Monday, January 21, 2013

Fifty
years ago, we learned that dreams were the fuel for action, and action was the
path to resolution. While perhaps my little dream is seldom discussed, it is subconsciously
manifested and of colossal importance for the well-being of generations to
come: and so I dream it. In my dream, artists are inexorably linked to the
health of society, and thus tied to the decisions that society makes, and tied
to the policies that create and shape our societies. In a way, this dream has
already come true – without poetry, from which element would Lincoln have
carved his words? Without music, how would the strength and resilience of the
black American community be communicated to populations around the world? President
Barack Obama himself has emphasized the importance of the artist in saying that
“the tools of change, and of progress, of revolution, of ferment -- they're not just pickaxes and hammers and screens and software, but they've also been brushes and pens and cameras and guitars." Yet, today, I interpret this
reality as a dream, because the links are muddied, the artists consistently
teetering on a precipice of imprisonment and disengagement. (To write a letter
to my congressman, or to practice? To sign a petition, or to practice?) Many of
us do not even exercise our right to ask these questions, because our classical
music community faces perpetual veiling from the outside world. It is for this
reason that I ask: how does Longy expect to educate civically engaged,
community-minded students – a self-proclaimed goal, as outlined below – when it
ignores one of the most important days in recent history?

Today, January 21, 2013, President
Barack H. Obama, our first black president, took his second oath of office on
the bible of Dr. Martin Luther King. It also happens to be Martin Luther King Day,
a national holiday for remembrance of his life and message, and it also happens
to be the year which marks the 50th anniversary of Dr. King’s
revolutionary “I Have a Dream” speech. Yet at Longy, classes were in session,
even though busses ran on a Saturday schedule, even though staff was off, even
though NEC, Boston Conservatory, Berklee, and all public institutions were off.
We, at Longy, missed the Inauguration coverage.When my children learn about this in their history classes
in the decades to come, they will ask me in their sweet voices – “where were
you, mommy?” I will answer, “I was in seminar, watching someone perform a
Mozart aria.” Is this the legacy we want to leave to our children, as artists?
As art administrators, as art educators? I ask you, dear Dean and President - how
does Longy expect to positively contribute to the relevance problem of
classical music if it continues to operate with such civic nonchalance?

Longy’s
mission statement, even in its clarity and pragmatism, draws many students
(including myself) because of the artful repetition of the word “world.”
Indeed, Longy claims to “[prepare] musicians to make a difference in the world”
and “foster an attitude of inquiry about the role of music and the musician in
the larger world.” From today, however, one might surmise that the method of
inducing inquiry included ignoring important public events and meaningful
holidays, in hopes of provoking responses such as this. With apologies, I’m not
sure if I can attribute my “attitude of inquiry” on this day to Longy’s
indifference, but rather to the efforts of my undergraduate institution,
Whitman College, which, while imperfect in its civic engagement, attempted with
a Sisyphean attitude to remedy this. Every year, we took off classes for a day to have a
school-wide conference about race and privilege. And every year, more students
graduated with a fire of public service ignited inside of them. Whitman, which
in its size and prestige has many elements in common with Longy, can serve as a
model for honest desire to connect to the “larger world,” as Longy strives to
do. Further, Longy claims to “offer programs which provide our students with
opportunities to engage with the world in new ways” – this, in its
manifestation in the Experiential Education sequence, drew me to Longy, and I
am ecstatic to embark upon my final EEP work this semester. Departing from the
theme of this letter, I am thrilled to have been able to ask and discuss these
very questions while at this school, and will continue to sing Longy's praises. But
it begs the question: what about students who struggle, through their
background or even through their natural interests, to connect to the outside
world? What kind of message does it send to ignore these meaningful holidays,
to force class attendance when the rest of the nation is witnessing history?
What kind of EEP project will they present, through no fault of their own
curious and hard-working souls, and, beyond Longy, what kind of career, will
these students hope to have when, outside of this sequence, they’ve been living
in a cultural vacuum? Is that the kind of student that a school, in our
increasingly global, diverse, and connected world, will want to hire to teach
their music classes? And is that the kind of student that doctoral programs,
increasingly pressured to produce professors who can research outside the box
and teach even further outside the rectangle, will want to admit? And is that
the kind of performer that audiences will want to see? And is that the kind of
performer that will even accrue an audience? We’ve asked these questions
before. Do not misinterpret: Longy is genuine in its mission and the faculty
and staff are skilled and passionate in executing it. But awareness works in
small ways too: observing MLK Day, thereby encouraging students to have watched
this historic inauguration, would only have served to support Longy’s
self-proclaimed values of “dynamic interaction with the larger world,” “creative
thought and innovation,” “the freedom to explore,” and, above all, “advocacy
for our art.”

While
advocacy for art is essential for its dissemination, there remains an unspoken
and elemental bond between great art and awareness of the human condition. I
have often heard classical musicians disparage popular music for pervasive and
vapid messages of dance floors and puppy love. And if these themes are truly
the avenue for meaningless art, then we can surmise that art loses meaning when
it disengages from the profound conundrums of life and society. While I don’t
necessarily agree with such a blanket statement, there is an element of truth
in that great music of any style – from the heart-wrenching laments of Kurt
Cobain to the celebratory frenzies of Senegalese mbalax to the profound implications of Beethoven’s fifth – deals
with universal themes. And what better place to look for universal themes than
OUTSIDE of the conservatory hall? Think of the days and days of music that grew
out of the Civil Rights movement, the myriad wars of a torn Europe, and, now,
the music that is erupting from our globally connected and impassioned
generation. Great art happens when artists are engaged in life that hasn’t
already been made into art. I guarantee you that I would have found more
inspiration to meaningfully sing my Alma Mahler songs if I had stayed home to
meditate on the words Dr. King and President Obama; more fodder for a work I’m composing about race and privilege. Instead, I learned about audition technique
and a few things about opera librettists. Essential knowledge, sure, but did I
have to learn it while history was happening, instead of history? The moment I realized this, I was graced with a
laughable wash of absurdity. It felt silly. This,
right now, is more important than THAT? I realize my words are impassioned
and not universally felt, but I do believe it is a question worth asking – one
that conservatories must ask every moment of every day in order to continue to
exist in our new world.